by Aeryn Leigh
Laurie stared at the pile of death he'd created. "You took us prisoner, shackled the black fellas then attacked an unarmed and manacled man," he said. "I won't apologise for what happened next."
"Jorvik will answer those questions in the afterlife, of that I have no doubt," said the helmed-man. "He was impatient and a fool to the end. And that’s why he got sent here, for that matter too." He paused, studying Laurie. "My name is Beowulf Hffylson, son of King Hffylson, King of Norseland. You slaughtered the north-most settlement at the base of the Gods, rendered it to dust — and I want us to be friends."
"A better question to ask," said Merrion, "is where are you going to go?" He pointed to the sleeping child. "And what of it?"
"I don't know," said Ella. "You're a klugscheisser know-it-all, why don't you take it?"
"No need to lose your temper," said Merrion. "What's your plan? Find your offspring and then what?"
"I'm going to try sleep. I can't think straight anymore."
I'm so tired and hurt, she realised, her body starting to shut down in withdrawal and stress and the trauma from her wound. "But, if you're going to leave in the middle of the night and steal what's mine, you’d better kill me, because I will do worse than remove your fingernails."
Merrion gave the slightest of nods. She made one last check on the child and horses, then folded onto the ground, the bare blanket and earth under her like the finest quilted mattress know to Earth, and fell asleep curled up as if in womb, one hand resting on Helena.
Merrion threw more fuel onto the fire. He looked at the woman, and her strange and terrifying weapons, and the child wrapped in red and gold, and made his decision. He retrieved his crossbow, pulled the dagger from the log, and walked until the firelight no longer touched him.
The Me-262 hurtled from the sky, ablaze and screaming. "Eject Amelia!" she shouted. They both reached for the rings but the rings were no longer there the ground rushed up at them and Amelia yelled in terror from a primordial place so deep her brain shook apart and they fell all the way down the Jumo's singing all the way to the earth and they smashed — and Ella awoke. Her upper arm throbbed in pain, but her cramping had gone. Her body felt clammy with sweat.
Amelia could be anywhere. Ella laid there trying not to be sick.
She looked at her glowing wrist-watch. A little time before sunrise. She lifted her head and looked about her. Merrion had gone. And the child snored. The camp-fire glowed, only red embers encrusted with grey and white ash giving her light, the night sky covered from clouds horizon to horizon. So, he'd left, but hadn't taken anything. Ha.
Ella stood up on protesting legs, and took a pee next to a nearby bush. She came back to the fire, added more fuel, and set about the process of cleaning the hunting rifle, reading the engraved instructions on the inside lid of the carry case as she did so in the firelight.
It'd be easier with two working hands, she thought, every time her shoulder lit up in pain.
Not long after the Suns rose, the child stretched its arms and sat up.
"Morning," Ella said. "Need to go potty?"
The child looked at her.
"Morning," said Merrion. Ella jumped at the voice behind.
"Will you stop doing that? You'll give me a heart-attack."
"I took guard all night, just down the path. I did sleep most of yesterday for some reason." He smiled and squatted down next to the child. "Your best hope at finding your child is to come with me. Or do you intend on just walking blindly down this path and dealing with whatever you find, or," he said, lowering his voice, "most likely, whatever finds you?"
"If I go with you, you won't tell me where, will you?"
"No," he said. "The raiding party that gutted that village is still nearby. This path," Merrion said, pointing to it, "is the main route back out of this area. But I know another way.”
Ella stared at the embers. Twenty-four hours ago, she didn't even know this man. Or this surviving child, for that matter.
"Is there hot water and a bath?" Merrion smiled. "Okay," she said, her guts churning.
The child smiled, and both adults looked at the growing, wet stain.
"Potty," the child said.
Chapter Forty-Six
Gray’s Anatomy
The group stopped another mile down the path, too exhausted and constrained to continue. Mick laid Amelia down and her bag next to her.
"We need to get these manacles off," said Lucius, easing Abe's body to the soft ferny ground.
"Hacksaws are in our kits," said Daniel. "Bear can you take watch?" Bear nodded and climbed up a tree trunk ten feet above the ground off the side of the path.
"We have some too," said Andrew, Mick helping him lie James down.
Mick checked his pulse, the man out cold. "Weak," he said. He examined the axe wound. James's arm only attached to the shoulder via muscle tendons. He stood and checked on Abe a few yards away as Lucius and Griffin began cutting into the soft iron manacles. "Hang in there mate." Abe tried to breathe, suffocating. Air bubbles popped through the blood. "Fuck. Who's got water?" Andrew passed him a canteen. Mick washed away a little of the blood. "Don't think his jugular has been hit but his windpipe seems crushed."
He looked up at Andrew. "Give me your Biro then would ya?" He swapped the canteen for Andrew's pen.
The new invention would be just the thing, he thought. A hard, hollow tube to stick into Abe’s windpipe, guaranteeing air supply. Mick reached into his backpack and pulled out a leather-bound dog-eared book, the thick volume lined with many bookmarks made from torn scraps of newspaper, and placed it on Abe’s chest.
"What about James?" said Andrew.
Mick took the plastic writing instrument apart. "The arm needs to come off," he said without looking up, "and if we can staunch the blood loss, and he survives the shock, he'll live, the grumpy bugger."
Lucius dropped the severed manacle to the ground, and helped Daniel. "He charged the man who shot Abe." So not a complete coward, he thought, just ignorant. The last of the red hair's manacles came free.
"What can I do?" said Daniel, rubbing his wrists. He knelt beside Abe.
"Hold him down hard," said Mick, "and do what I say, when I say. Lucius, open Gray’s Anatomy to the fourth bookmark, will ya? Daniel first. Ready?"
"We can't move them," said Mick later, stretching his legs. "Okay big guy, let me see your arm." He motioned Griffin over, and inspected the arm.
"Can't, or shouldn't?" said Lucius. "It'll be sundown soon. Be damned if I'm going to let some medieval white men take us again."
"We know what we're up against now," said Andrew. "And Laurie gave them a bloody nose we hope."
"What's the ammo situation like?" said Lucius. "I've still got nine rounds left for my .45."
They pooled their weapons and ammunition on the back of Lucius's coat spread on the ground. Andrew excused himself to check on Amelia. "Still sleeping," he said when he came back.
"Ok, so four pistols, seven M3's, and three-hundred and eight rounds, two Very flare guns, and some pissed off airmen," said Lucius. He frowned, and handed the weapons out.
"Well we're home and hosed then," said Andrew.
"What?" said Griffin. "Ouch, Shorty," he said to Mick, who'd pried a metal ball out of his flesh in the distraction.
"It means we are sorted," said Mick, stuffing gauze into Griffin's wound. He looked up. "Aren't you tall?" The pair paused, then laughed.
"Australians," said Lucius. "He's being sarcastic Griffin."
"Okay,” said Griffin. My kingdom for another heavy machine-gun right now, he thought.
"Do we dare light a fire?" said Daniel. "Getting kinda cold." He bunched his shoulders together.
"We need a fire to keep them warm, mate," said Mick. "They've lost the ability to regulate their body temperatures with blood loss." He finished wrapping the bandage. "There ya go." Griffin nodded.
Lucius and Andrew both sighed. Griffin laughed, his mouth tight. "C'mon Daniel, let's get us some wood."
Chapter Forty-Seven
The Finest Warriors I Have
Morning came.
Birds chirped and sang to bring in the new day. Amelia stirred and woke up. She yawned. Where am I? she thought. I miss Mummy. Ouch my head. She raised a hand and touched her forehead. She blinked a few times. A man in a tree a little way off waved to her.
She squinted. Oh, that's Mick, she thought, and waved back. Next to her lay Griffin, softly snoring, and there was Daniel, Bear, Thorfinn and Lucius, Andrew, and hmm, Robert wait that's Abe and James lying together so where is Jimmy and Eugene and Laurie and Zia and Skippy?
"Zia," she whispered. "Here pussy cat, tsk, tsk, tsk." The snoring stopped.
"Hey girl," said Griffin, one eye open. "You're awake." His grin looked huge to Amelia, who smiled.
"Where's Laurie? And Zia? And Skippy?"
The grin faded. "We lost them kiddo."
"You lost them? But what happened to the men that were taking us to the castle? Were we prisoners?" said Amelia in a rush.
"You fell and hit your head. It all got — crazy — after that. Laurie stayed behind to help us escape."
"Oh," said Amelia, and took out Message Bear from the canvas bag. A folded-up note torn from a notebook stuck out of the little hand-woven pocket. She opened it. "Get well soon kiddo" she read, mouthing the words. It looked like Griffin's writing? She grinned.
"What happened to your arm?" she said, touching the bandage.
"Got stuck by a pinball," said Griffin, his smile returning. "Wanna see?" He rummaged in a front pocket and showed her the shiny round metal ball in his palm. "From a musket. Real history right there."
"What's a musket?"
"A real old gun, like what pirates used to have."
Amelia nodded and said nothing more for the rest of daybreak, hugging Message Bear tight to her chest whilst the men around her woke up and argued over breakfast.
"We need to stay and concentrate our forces," said Bear.
"We need the machine-guns," said Lucius.
"What we need and what we can do are two different things," said Andrew.
"There's no more food," said Lucius, "so we can't stay here." He pointed towards the enemy camp. "It's FUBAR."
"It's a three day walk to Damage Inc.," said Daniel, "and three back again, with nothing but water?"
"The wounded must stay here," said Mick, "and we need those guns. We need food, and help while we're at it. And yeah, it's all fucked."
"Some help that was," said Lucius, looking in the direction they'd came yesterday.
The debate went on for a little while longer in a circle.
"Gentlemen," said Andrew, "we're tired, hungry and stressed. Everyone just take a little time out and breathe?" They all nodded, or muttered, assent, and then dispersed.
Mick knelt by Abe's side and checked his pulse. "Good," he said. The sound of Abe’s breath whistled through the plastic pen. In. Out. He twisted and examined James. Not so good, he thought. James's skin felt clammy.
Mick's ears pricked up.
No, he thought, couldn't be. "Ssh," he said, standing up, waving them all to be quiet. Still talking. "Fucking shut up," he said a little louder. In the silence, he heard it a little clearer.
"Oh, you gammy bastard," he cried. He cupped his hands by his mouth and gave the answering call back as loud could be. "Coooo-eeeeee. Coooo-eeeeee."
"What's a coo-ee?" said Lucius, his forehead wrinkled.
"He's alive," said Andrew, grinning. "Son of a bitch."
Laurie put his hands down. "I've called them," he said, patting Skippy, "so if they are nearby, we should get a response.
Beowulf looked at him. “Coo-ee’. A form of battle cry?" The two men walked with both dogs up the path, both seeing the red drops of blood that lay in the dirt from the day before as the bomber crews fled. Beowulf had returned Laurie's' gear.
Manx sniffed the ground, and for the umpteenth time that morning, cocked a leg over a tree stump.
"Nah, more like 'I'm lost in the bush so where the bloody hell are you?'" said Laurie. Beowulf said nothing for a few more yards.
"What year was it when you hit the storm?"
"1944, as I said last night," said Laurie. "Why?"
Beowulf counted on his fingers. "Ten and one. Eleven centuries."
"Eleven centuries of what?"
"Eleven centuries since my ancestors passed through a great storm and arrived in this world."
Skippy cocked her head. Then Beowulf and Laurie heard the distinctive response back.
"That's them."
"The finest warriors you could have?"
"The finest warriors I have," said Laurie. "C'mon, let's meet them, or what's left of them."
The call back and forth grew louder and louder until the faint tendrils of their camp-fire loomed out of the forest a few hundred yards distant. "This could be tricky," said Laurie. "I'll do the talking?" Beowulf nodded, and Skippy led the three the rest of the way up the path.
"Skippy," yelled Amelia, running up to hug the German-Shepherd at the clearing's edge. Skippy licked the child's face.
"Lucius, Andrew, everyone,” said Laurie nervously, "I've brought a…a friend. And for chrissakes, whatever you do, don't shoot." He walked into the clearing, with Beowulf and Manx by his side.
The temperature dropped so quick in the clearing Satan could have ice-skated across it.
"Fuck me," said Mick, able to speak at last.
Lucius didn't lower his semi-automatic. "No," he said to the newcomer, "Fuck You." The gun pointed at Beowulf.
"Another man with red hair," said Amelia. She walked over to Laurie. "Do you know where Zia is?"
"Amelia," said Griffin, "come over here. Now."
Beowulf left Laurie and stepped towards Lucius, and halted four feet away, hands on his waist.
"Christ," said Laurie. "Lucius, this is Beowulf, leader of the local area," he said. "He wants to —."
"I apologise Lucius James Junior," said Beowulf. "We have become used to taking blumen for trade in our war when times are grim."
Lucius's gun did not waver.
"There's something we all need to know," said Laurie, to the assembled group. He sat on a log with care, threw Skippy a stick, which the dog ignored, the dog dropped by his feet.
"And what's that," said Griffin, Amelia clinging to his leg.
"I am Beowulf Hffylson, Son of King Hffylson, and Chieftain of — what was — The Fort at The Foot of the Gods," said Beowulf.
In a moment, he unsheathed his sword and plunged it into the ground before even Lucius could react.
"I am descended from my mother and my father back through thirteen generations to the beginning, since my forefather's rode through a Godly storm like yours and arrived in this world like Earth." He looked at each of them in turn, and returned Lucius's stare.
"You are trapped like the rest of us, and there is no escape." He once again cast his gaze around the dazed men, and a blinking Amelia. "Welcome to Odin's Playground. You'll not get out of this alive."
Chapter Forty-Eight
Odin's Playground
Ella, Merrion, and the freshly-cleaned child ate breakfast. Merrion scattered dirt over the camp-fire, and with the other two and the cart ready to leave just a little way off, he did his best to cover their camp's evidence. He hopped up onto the cart's bench beside her.
"After you, fearless leader," said Ella. She sat in the cart, Helena on her lap, the child in the back on top of a bag, and tried to not think about how much her arm hurt.
Where could Amelia be? Please let her be alive. She spiralled down into the imagining of finding her dead and how she'd react. She shook her head. Not helpful.
What did Merrion mean by the Inquisition? The maelstrom? The cart started moving down the dirt path. There's no going back home? If so, then what of this world? Why are the stars the same but not the same? Ouch, stupid pothole. Who fills in potholes anyway? Is that a job description? Men wanted: Pothole filler. Urg
h. Stuck all day shovelling dirt. She shuddered.
Amelia. Anywhere in this world he'd said.
"Merrion," she said, willing calm into her voice, "when you said Amelia could be anywhere in this world, well, what is this world? The land we're in, which country? Is this Europe? France?"
"Europe?" he said, in a voice of wonder. "That's a tale from my grandmother who heard it from her grandmother. No, we are not in Europe. People have come from Europe through the Maelstrom, but this land is not it."
"So, what do you call it?"
"Who's 'you'?"
"Sorry?"
"You?"
"Christ. What does Merrion call the land he walks in?"
"Who's Christ?"
"Swear to God I will punch you with my good arm if you don't stop playing with me."
"You would have to swap seats first."
"Ah..."
"You're left-handed, and you're sitting on my right, which means you would need to get up first."
"Not if I shoot you 'first'."
"With Helena?"
"Who's Helena?"
"Ha!"
"Have you always been this way?"
"Unfortunately. It's a causative effect of living in a world where Gods, Monsters and Magic are as real as you and me."
"Is this world called Earth?"
"Yes."
"Okay. How many continents are there?"
"Three as far as I'm aware."
"Three?"
"Yes, the number that comes after two."
"Lord."
"Which one?"
"Do you see this pistol in my hand? Observe my thumb cocking the safety off. I am moments away from shooting you in a fleshy part of your leg."
"You must be a real hit with all the gentlemen."
"If only you knew."
"It depends, Ella, on where and who you are for the answer of what this land is called. The Inquisition calls this Heaven's Spain. The Vikings call this Odin's Playground, or Valhalla's Grave. And as for the Republic and everyone else, this is Elysium."